


I Need You in My Arms

by EstherRuth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (Brief Mention) Past Abuse, (Brief Mention) Past Rape/Non-con, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark(ish) Jon Snow, F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Half-Sibling Incest, Jealous Jon Snow, Jonsa hugs, Light Angst, POV Jon Snow, POV Sansa Stark, Possessive Jon Snow, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning (Referenced), Romance, The idea was dark but it just became sweet and tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherRuth/pseuds/EstherRuth
Summary: Jon knew that he was not a good man. In fact, when he really examined it, on the whole of things, he could admit he was probably a bad person. What other kind of man, nearing his release from prison, would set out to seduce his sister? But Jon also believed that unless anyone knew, really fucking knew, the circumstances of how he had gotten to this point, they had no right to judge him.----After finishing a prison sentence for manslaughter for Ramsay Bolton's death, Jon is determined to make his half-sister, Sansa, his. But will things go according to plan?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 77
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever and I'm a little nervous. I want to note a few things:   
> 1\. In this fic, Jon, Sansa, and (a much younger) Rickon are the only Stark kids.   
> 2\. Ned is actually Jon's father here, with Lyanna Snow (not a Stark). Jon and Sansa are actually half-siblings, so if that bothers you, you may want to skip this story.  
> 3\. Ned didn't cheat on Catelyn so her relationship with Jon was not acrimonious.  
> 4\. Ned and Catelyn died in a car accident.  
> 5\. As clear from the summary, there are some references to Ramsay and past abuse Sansa suffered from him and Littlefinger--but these are very brief mentions because I didn't want to dwell on her trauma in this story.   
> 6\. This is primarily from Jon's POV, but Sansa's does come up later. As dark as the premise is, I basically ended up with a much sweeter Jon/Sansa than I imagined at first. Jon's not especially dark, but he did kill Ramsay and he doesn't care that Sansa's his sister, so I gave him a dark(ish) tag.

Jon knew that he was not a good man. In fact, when he really examined it, on the whole of things, he could admit he was probably a bad person. What other kind of man, nearing his release from prison, would set out to seduce his sister? But Jon also believed that unless anyone knew, _really fucking knew,_ the circumstances of how he had gotten to this point, they had no right to judge him. 

It was a bit ironic to think back on it now. He had been determined to hate his sister. She had gotten the life he hadn’t. He first met Sansa when he was fourteen years old, and wasn’t that one of those circumstances someone would have to know to even begin to understand? Was it his fault that he had shit luck, that he lacked early childhood experiences with Sansa that might have inoculated him against attraction?

His mother Lyanna Snow had only admitted to Jon his father’s identity when he was thirteen. She had read about Ned Stark’s inheritance of old family money, and his election as Mayor of Winterfell. She had never told Ned either, it turned out. The two had already split (bitterly) when she discovered she was pregnant, and she was too proud or stubborn to contact him. Ned had shortly thereafter met Catelyn and a whirlwind romance, wedding, and daughter soon followed. Ned had met with Jon a few times, they had done a DNA test, and now, Jon was ready to meet his stepmother and half-sister, who was nearly thirteen.

Jon Snow had wanted so badly to hate her. This lonely, broody boy with an unstable mother, no father, who had grown up in poverty, wanted to hate perfect Sansa Stark, with her two perfect parents, her perfect wealthy background. And yet…

…He met her, with her shiny red hair and her deep blue eyes that gleamed at him with such sincerity it had taken him aback. She had come toward him with a warm smile and wrapped her arms around him. He wasn’t used to hugs, but somehow his arms immediately went around her, hugging back automatically, as if she was meant to be there in his arms, as if she fit perfectly. And she breathed by his ear, “I’ve always wanted a brother,” with something like wonder in her voice. Perhaps, perfect Sansa Stark was just as lonely as he was. And suddenly he felt it. Warm. Home. Belonging. Love.

And okay, he had fallen in love with her in that moment. He knew it was fucked up. She had said she wanted a _brother_. But he couldn’t help it. That acceptance had burrowed into his heart. It was irrevocable. It was in his bones. There was no going back.

Jon began spending summers with the Starks, and Ned was generous in his support of Lyanna and Jon year-round, even when political opponents tried to use the scandal of Jon’s “illegitimate” birth. His interactions with Ned, while well-intentioned, could be awkward. Ned often seemed nervous around him. He carried guilt for the years he missed, and perhaps he didn’t quite know how to bond and parent him so late in the game. He knew Ned loved him, but he was the kind of father who rarely said, “I love you” and instead tried to show it with his actions. He loved Ned, but he never got used to calling him dad. Catelyn was nice, but she wasn’t his mother. He didn’t want her to be, he already had a mother, and he thought she sensed it and gave him distance. And he figured she felt uncomfortable around him at times, a reminder of her husband’s past relationship. He cared for her and she cared for him, but he couldn’t say that they were very close. He was closest to Sansa. His feelings in the beginning were fairly innocent. He wanted to hold her hand, surprise her with flowers, kiss her cheek, _maybe_ her lips, but only lightly. She brought out a softness in him he didn’t know he had, some chivalry, he wanted to be her knight in shining armor. 

When he was seventeen and Sansa fifteen, Cat and Ned had Rickon. Jon had held him and kissed the forehead of his tiny, scrunched up face with reverence. Yet a small, selfish part of him was glad he and Sansa were so much older, he felt they maintained a special bond.

And then everything went to shit. When Sansa was seventeen and he nineteen, in his freshman year of college, Ned and Cat were killed in a car accident. Sansa and Rickon were taken in by their Aunt Lysa and her husband Petyr Baelish, along with their cousin Robin. Jon should have known something was wrong when Sansa’s phone calls, texts, and letters slowed to a trickle. He ached for her and their rare visits, but he believed the grief they had all suffered as well as Lysa’s distaste for her late sister’s stepson was responsible for the distance. Plus, he was used to losing good things. It all made sense to him in a way, to have lost Ned and Cat, to slowly but surely lose Sansa and Rickon, that was the way his life went. He was too stuck in his own melancholy to have noticed the warning signs. But then, after two years, a nineteen-year-old Sansa appeared at the door of his apartment, a four-year-old Rickon in tow. Tales of Baelish’s touches and the abuse from her ex-boyfriend Ramsay Bolton had sent him into a rage unlike any he had ever known. It took all of Sansa’s strength and desperate pleas to restrain him from a rampage.

Then came the day that Jon arrived home after dropping Rickon off at school and found the Bolton bastard attempting to force himself on her. Sansa had feared Bolton might follow her. He had gotten her pepper spray, she had taken self-defense classes, and they had installed a new security system, and yet, there Bolton was. Jon had failed her. It was all his worst fears come to life. He barely remembers beating the man to death. That was perhaps his only regret, that he cannot picture clearly Ramsay dying at his hands. Not an ounce of guilt followed. With the Stark money and his friend Samwell Tarly’s father, Randyll, as his attorney, Jon was fortunate. Bolton’s history of abuse was uncovered, and Jon was sentenced to just two years for manslaughter.

Sansa kept him alive behind bars. She visited nearly every week. He kept a picture of her tucked under his pillow. He gave up the fight to suppress his feelings, allowing them, his love, and everything from his sweet daydreams to his sordid fantasies sustain him through his sentence. And now. Now, he would be out, he would be free. And he had no doubts. He was certain. He was determined. Sansa would be his.

\----

He only had a small bag of personal affects and the clothes on his back as he was processed. That was fine. Good, really. Sansa would be there for him, and she liked to fuss over him, care for him, mend his clothing, and she was always better able to anticipate his needs than he could. He liked that she would fuss over him. It made him feel warm and like he was floating whenever she would pridefully display a sweater or hat she’d knit for him, a smile of pure joy on her face as he gratefully accepted her gifts.

But for now, his old leather jacket would do. Jon stepped out of the prison and into the parking lot with anticipation coursing through his veins. Now, he would see Sansa, he would get to _touch_ her, which he could never do during her visits. As his feet carried him forward and his mind buzzed, he spotted that flash of copper in the distance…

…It was _her._

_Sansa._

He spotted her before she saw him. He could see she was rocking back and forth on her heels, the way she did when she was impatient and excited, and he smiled. She was impatient and excited to see _him._ Her ocean blue eyes sparkled when she finally saw him making his way over. She was always so beautiful. He felt himself moving more swiftly, careful not to trip over his own two feet. She was moving too now, her long legs taking her forward with all the grace with which she usually carried herself, but he could see she was restraining herself from breaking into an outright run. Their eyes never left each other. He had just enough time to drop his bag by his side before she hurdled herself into his arms, gripping onto his shoulders. His arms clutched her tightly around her back and they swayed slightly back and forth in their embrace.

One basic thing he knew: there was nothing else in the world that compared to a hug from Sansa Stark.

“ _Jon,”_ she said brokenly, her voice thick with emotion, and gripped him even tighter, as if she would never let him go. (He wouldn’t complain).

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, his own voice faltering only slightly. He felt her laugh softly against him. He often called her beautiful without thinking, but she always seemed to like it.

“You’re really here, you’re out, I can touch you!” ( _Oh yes, you can_ ).

“Sans,” he breathed. She lowered herself back down, and his hands lingered for a moment too long on her lower back before releasing her. Her own hands lingered the same on his chest. It was always like that with them. The lingering touches, the sidelong glances, the way she would shyly bite her lip when he paid her a compliment. He knew that on some level, Sansa felt the same about him as he did about her. It was just that his Sansa, always the good girl, the rule follower, needed him to give her a push in the right direction. Make her see that they could be together. He loved her with everything he had. He knew he could make her happy and give her all the love she had always dreamed of.

She had always liked romances and fairy tales. Knights and maidens. After all she had been through, she deserved that love and protection, and he wanted to be the one to give it to her. He had already slain a beast for her, after all. As they walked to her car arm-in-arm, he saw the way she looked at him, like he was her hero. _Her knight._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon settles in, some Stark family feels with Rickon, a bit of ~tension~, and some Jealous Jon at the end.  
> Hope you guys enjoy!

The objective, really, as Jon understood it, was to help Sansa ease away from the dance they had been doing for years now. He had loved her since that first day. He couldn’t say exactly when Sansa began to reciprocate his feelings, only he knew that she did. It always seemed to crackle between them, this passion, but it had never been acknowledged. Sansa would likely struggle with the shame and guilt of their love, just as he used to do, before he had decided that it no longer mattered to him that she was his sister. But Sansa probably still felt wrong about them as siblings (half-siblings) and what with Sansa’s history, he knew he had to be careful, and take things slow.

“Rickon is with Brienne at home,” Sansa informed him as he threw his bag in the backseat and settled himself into the passenger seat.

“Thank you,” he said. He had asked Sansa to keep their little brother away from the prison, as Jon hoped to shield him from any added fear or trauma. Even today, he didn’t want Rickon waiting outside the prison.

“Of course, Jon,” she said. She hadn’t agreed with his decision at first, but she respected it. Jon had moments of doubt, and he worried Rickon would forget about him, just as his brother had surely forgotten Ned and Cat. Sansa had assuaged those fears: “I show him your picture every day.” That was just like his sweet Sansa. 

“You don’t have any surprise parties waiting for me when we get there?” he asked, arching his brow.

She huffed: “of course not, Jon! I would never!” Sansa was adorable when she was indignant. Okay, maybe he liked getting her a little worked up. He wanted to get her a lot _more_ worked up. He shouldn’t be thinking like that in the enclosed space of her car.

“I seem to remember you loving surprise parties.”

“Yes, _I_ love surprise parties, but _you_ don’t. So, no surprise parties for Jon, Scout’s Honor,” her eyes danced with humor.

“That’s good to hear.”

“However…”

“Here we go,” he groaned. He was enjoying this too much.

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I’m listening,” he said, leaning forward and giving her a sly grin. Her eyes always grew heated when he looked at her that way. This was no exception. He hoped he didn’t distract her from driving (too much).

“I was, um,” she blinked, and a rosy blush tinted her cheeks. Yes, she liked the way he looked at her. “I was just saying that Sam, Gilly, and little Sam planned to stop by sometime later today,” she finished.

“That’s great Sans.”

“And I baked you a cake,” she said brightly “buttercream frosting.”

“My favorite.” God, she made him feel special.

“That’s why you love me,” she said with a light giggle. He loved that giggle.

“There are many reasons I love you Sansa,” he said earnestly.

“I love you too Jon.” She reached over and squeezed his hand.

\----

It was all a little strange, like a dream he might wake from at any moment. Truthfully, he had never had the opportunity to visit the cottage Sansa had purchased in White Harbor, as he was already in prison by the time she and Rickon moved in. She had used some of her trust fund with help from their uncle Benjen, who had to unfreeze the money rather than keeping it away until she turned twenty-five. Jon had felt guilty, that she perhaps would not have decided to stay if not for him, but she scoffed at his worries. “We’re _family_ Jon. The pack survives,” she said. The fact that she wanted him there with her and Rickon when he got out touched him in ways he couldn’t describe. 

Rickon was a little skittish, but he did recognize him. “You look smaller than in your picture,” he said. Jon had chuckled.

“Rickon!”

“It’s alright Sansa,” Jon was just relieved to be at all familiar to his little brother. And next to Sansa, he imagined he looked a little shorter, she was about an inch taller than him. He knew that bothered some men, but he couldn’t understand why. Sansa was perfect, and her legs…God, he wanted those legs wrapped around him.

After visiting with Brienne, Sam, Gilly, and Little Sam, as well as the celebratory cake, Jon was becoming more settled. It was strange, after two years, to be able to move freely from room to room, to go outside when he wanted, to choose how to spend his time. Such freedom could seem overwhelming, but looking at Sansa laughing happily with their friends, he felt he could get used to it.

Once their guests had left, Sansa suggested Jon help Rickon get ready for bed. He was grateful that she knew he wanted quality time with their brother. Rickon was nearly seven now, and Sansa fretted over his development, no doubt owing to the loss and trauma their family had suffered. He’d fallen a bit behind in school. She wanted to make life normal for him, Jon knew.

After Jon helped Rickon pick out some pajamas and made sure he brushed his teeth, he settled in beside his little brother to read with him a book Rickon liked. After Jon finished reading with Rickon, his little brother looked up to him curiously. He seemed to be preparing himself for something, though Jon could not guess at what that might be. Then, he spoke: “Jon, do you love Sansa?”

Jon felt his heart quicken. He wasn’t sure why Rickon would ask, or if Rickon might have an inkling of Jon’s true feelings. But he could tell the truth, even if it was more complicated than Rickon would know. “Yes, of course, I love Sansa.” It felt good to say it, even if the confession was over Rickon’s head. “And I love you buddy, you know that? We’re a family.”

Rickon nodded while he appeared deep in thought. “Then, why did you leave?” he asked.

Jon felt like he might cry but took a sharp inhale of breath to steady himself and answer. Sansa had already talked to Rickon about this, he knew, but his brother surely wanted to hear it from him. “I didn’t want to leave you or Sansa, not ever. But I had to go away for a little while so you and Sansa could be safe, because I made sure no one would hurt you two. Now that I’m back, I’m staying.” He hesitated before asking with his heart in his throat: “how do you feel about that? Me staying?”

Rickon considered, nodded, and answered: “It’s good. Sansa gets lonely sometimes. She needs us,” he whispered this last part conspiratorially, and Jon giggled despite himself.

“And I need you both. Get some sleep okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.” Rickon said. It was more than Jon hoped for, and he shut his eyes to keep the tears from falling, kissed his brother on the forehead and closed the bedroom door behind him. He stood in the hallway, taking slow deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth, like Sansa had taught him. This was good, all of it was good. Still, it was a lot for one day.

\----

He found Sansa in the kitchen, leaning over the counter looking over some paperwork. Her hair was in a ponytail. She had changed into yoga pants that made his eyes go wide and one of his old t-shirts. One of _his_ t-shirts. She had to know what she was doing to him.

“Hey,” he said hoarsely, hoping to regain equilibrium.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. Equilibrium? Fuck no. “Hey, everything go okay with Rickon?” she asked.

“Yeah, um, yeah. He’s in bed now,” Jon stammered. He had to be cooler about this but damn, he could see her beautiful neck with her hair up and he wanted to wrap his hand around that ponytail. “So um, what are you up to? Work stuff?”

She nodded and turned back to the papers. Sansa was the manager of a cafe, and the owner relied on her for most of the bookkeeping. Jon didn’t think she was paid enough. Sansa had begun cricking her neck and rolling her shoulders between signing forms and organizing a spreadsheet.

“Tense?” he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. “A bit.”

He wasn’t thinking. That could only explain why he would step closer into her personal space. “I could help with that.” She looked as surprised as he felt. _Fuck fuck shit what the fuck did I just say?_ He wanted to take his time with her. He didn’t want to scare her away and what he’d just said, was it too much? He had to think. “I could give you a neck massage or something?” there was no way it had come off as casual, but he noted that Sansa hadn’t moved away, and she looked at him with darkened eyes.

“You don’t have to…” she trailed off but looked hopeful.

“I insist,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel and moved behind her, setting his hands against her neck. He honestly didn’t know much about massages, but he was _touching_ her, and he knew he could make her feel good with his hands and fingers…and other things. He must have been doing well as she began to moan appreciatively. _Fuck._ He bit his lip to keep himself from moaning with her. He was getting hard and reminding himself not to start dry humping her in the kitchen. She shuddered in his hands. He could work with this. It wouldn’t be all at once, but she wanted him. He knew it. They wouldn’t be doing anything tonight, he reminded himself. But a little push—that he could do.

He leaned forward to put his mouth by her ear. “That feel good?” he asked huskily. She shuddered again and nodded shakily. He could see goosebumps rising on her skin.

“That—yes, thank you Jon,” she said.

“Anytime,” he said.

The rest of the evening was fairly quiet. Alone in his bed that night, he stroked himself to the memory of that massage, her skin, the sounds she made. He softly groaned her name as he came.

\----

_Patience. Patience. Patience._ Jon repeats the mantra to himself. But still, it is hard. Sansa’s friend Margaery comes over and Jon has never much liked the woman. Granted, he has rarely been in the same room with her, but he feels that he has seen and heard enough from Sansa to worry. There were times she would visit and begin an anecdote with phrases like “Margaery thinks…” or “Margaery said…” that would leave Jon with the impression that Margaery wanted to mold Sansa to be different, more like Margaery herself. And the few times he was around Sansa’s friend, there was something in her eyes when she looked at Jon that made him uneasy—a glint that was a little too knowing for Jon’s liking. And of course, there was also the fact that she constantly encouraged Sansa “to get back into the dating scene.”

Yet, when Margaery arrives and Sansa squeals in delight, he feels warmth spreading in his chest; he loves seeing his sister happy. The two talk about Margaery’s schooling, Sansa’s work, whether Sansa will join Margaery in attending White Harbor University, and Margaery’s general needling to Sansa that she must get out more. Jon finds himself excelling with keeping his annoyance with Sansa’s friend to a minimum when Margaery must break his efforts—because _of course_ she does. 

“I have it on good authority that Harry is going to ask you out,” Margaery finishes in a sing-song voice. Yup, Jon cannot stand this woman. 

And he cannot seem to help himself: “Who’s Harry?” he asks abruptly.

Sansa glances over to him. “No one,” she says tiredly.

“No one? Really, Sansa? Harry Hardyng, only the total dreamboat who is simply mad for you darling!” Margaery exclaims.

“Harry would fuck anything that breathes and has tits,” Sansa says.

“Except he has been stuck on you for weeks now, Sansa, you might actually tame him,” Margaery teases.

Jon has had enough and wishes to hear no more. Unless, maybe he can get this Harry douche’s home address. “You shouldn’t go out with him Sansa,” he blurts out.

Both women stare at him, surprised. If he were anyone else, he’d feel sorry for himself at his outburst. He may feel sorry for himself anyway. “It doesn’t sound like he respects women. You deserve better, Sansa.” That much was true, regardless of his jealousy.

“Such a protective big brother, it’s so sweet,” Margaery says as she smirks at him. She’s got that damn glint in her eyes like she _knows._ Can he pass off his jealousy as brotherly protectiveness? He’d like to think so, but Margaery calls that into serious question. It’s just that the very thought of another man with her, touching _his_ Sansa, makes his guts churn and his pulse jump.

“Don’t worry, Jon,” Sansa says soothingly while reaching across the table to touch his hand. “I’m definitely not going out with Harry.” Margaery smirks at him again, her eyes following where Jon and Sansa’s hands touch. Yes, she _knows_. She must. Jon can’t immediately calculate how much of a problem this might be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read, commented, bookmarked, or gave a kudos on the last chapter! I'm such a big fan of the Jonsa writers/community here and I hope you guys like this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's plans go a bit awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter a bit, and it is pretty short, but I hope you guys enjoy it!

“So, I spoke with Father Luwin last week,” Sansa says to him while clutching some papers in her hands. He looks up from his mug of coffee. He’d dropped Rickon off at school about an hour ago, wanting to let Sansa sleep in on one of her few days off work. Yet, from the way she’s holding those papers to her chest, he thinks she just used that time for something else. Plus, she has a distinct expression when he lifts his eyes to meet hers. He knows that face. Sansa is on a mission.

“He had some ideas of where you might be able to find work. He gave me some contact information and applications. There’s an auto shop looking for a mechanic and Father Luwin thinks they would be open to hiring you,” she’s rifling through the papers, handing him one at a time. “There’s a bakery and deli shop over on Sixth that specifically hires felons as long as the owner believes them not to be dangerous to customers. I think the guy has a record himself so he’s more sympathetic. And that furniture store I was telling you about before is looking for a carpenter’s apprentice if you’re still interested in building—”

“Sansa, it’s okay. You don’t have to do any of this,” he says reassuringly as she thrusts the papers toward him. Her mile-a-minute babbling on his prospects tells him she’s nervous about this conversation and he thinks maybe he can set her mind at ease. “I appreciate it, really, but I can find my own work. It might take a little longer, but I can stand on my own two feet.”

He loves the way Sansa likes to take care of him. He really does. But there are some things he’d rather do for himself. What with him, Rickon, and managing a café, sometimes Jon worries Sansa will take on too much.

“You’d still be standing on your own two feet, you’ll do the interviews and if they give you a job, you’ll be proving yourself, Jon,” Sansa says, placing a hand on his arm. He smiles at her, warmed by her sweet and gentle touch. Her faith in him makes him have faith in himself; it’s one of those things about her that makes her unlike anyone else. Still, he has no wish for her to burden herself with helping him find a job.

“This is…I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this for me.”

“Oh, Jon really, it is the least I can do after…” she begins to trail off, seeming to lose focus. Watching her now, he thinks he has a better idea of where this particular mission is coming from and it twists his insides. She bites her lip and looks away from him like she’s going to cry. Jon hates that. He hates seeing her in pain.

He takes a deep breath, covering her hand which still rests on his arm, praying he’ll say the right thing. “Sansa, we’ve been over this,” he tells her as delicately as possible. And they have. Oh, they have. But it still seemed to plague her. This unnecessary guilt he wishes he could shake out of her. 

“It doesn’t change the facts, Jon! You went to prison because of me,” Sansa says and ducks her head down. He sets the papers to the side and wraps her in his arms. He can’t let her feel this way. He _can’t._

“Sansa, I made my choices and I would do it again. I would go to prison for the rest of my life if I had to, _gladly,_ if it meant I knew that bastard was off the face of the Earth and you were safe.” He tells her softly, running his hand down her back soothingly. Her hair runs through his fingers, soft and perfect. He loves her. He loves her so much that sometimes it actually hurts. He squeezes her body against his, willing her to feel how much he loves her. How he would kill for her and die for her, over and over again without a second of hesitation. She is his life. His love. His everything.

She let out a soft whimper and it threatened to break him wide open. He stepped back slightly and framed her face in his palms. “I love you Sansa. Do you hear me? I love you more than anything, do you understand?” He searched her face. He realized the way he spoke may have revealed more than he would have planned to, but at the moment he didn’t care, he needed to fix this, to make her understand. He could never resent her for any of it. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead tenderly, a kiss imbued with his love and devotion, his protection, his heart and soul. And his lips probably lingered for too long, but once they were on her skin, he struggled to pull himself away. When he did his eyes were immediately drawn to her lips. It would have felt so natural, so right for him to kiss her mouth too. He looked back to her eyes, her striking baby blues and their penetrating gaze on him. She could see right through him. She knew. She had to know. If she hadn’t before, there could be no doubt about it now.

And Jon didn’t know what to do. This was not part of the plan. He had not meant to reveal himself when she was so vulnerable. If they were to come together in that moment it would have been a hollow victory.

He stepped back further. “Jon,” she whispered and reached forward, pushing some of his curls from his forehead. He smiled. He felt it was probably awkward. _Smooth Snow, real smooth._

She was leaning forward again, and he froze. It seemed like it was happening in slow motion, or it was like a movie he was watching or a dream he was having as he slept. He couldn’t breathe. Sansa held his face in her hands and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. He responded immediately. His hands were in her hair, his lips were pressing back. She pressed her body into his and he felt a groan rumbling from his throat. One hand moved to her waist. She opened her mouth. When their tongues first met, he heard them both moaning, and he gripped her tightly. He caressed her jaw, her neck. She was winding her hands into his hair, lightly scratching at the back of his neck. The feel of her lips against his was hypnotic. He couldn’t believe this was happening. It was the best kiss of his life (the best _moment_ of his life, period). They moved together so seamlessly. It was perfect. He loved her. God, he loved her.

And then she pulled herself away from him abruptly. He was dizzy, trying to piece together what had just happened. He saw Sansa’s eyes then, the shame and guilt in them as tears began to build. “I’m so sorry, Jon,” she cries. She begins to walk toward their front door.

“Sansa, wait!” he says. But she doesn’t look back. She rushes out the door and slams it closed behind her. She was gone. For a moment, he had everything. Had he lost it all? He forces himself to move, to go after her. He gets outside to see her in her car, backing out of the driveway. He rushes forward: “wait please!” She looks back at him for a split second, and then she is gone. He stands in the driveway, a crushing feeling in his chest.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for leaving it off here! Honestly, I have been trying to let the characters as I imagined them lead the story, and I was nearly as surprised as Jon with this development, but it felt right. I'm sorry to leave it off like this but the next chapter will be up sometime tomorrow and it'll have the introduction of Sansa's POV. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With both of them reeling, Sansa needs to process; and Jon needs to let her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is probably the most angsty chapter in the story. Sansa is in a confused state right now and it's a struggle for Jon because he just wants to make it better. But this story will have a happy ending--Jon and Sansa will have to face some obstacles along the way, but they will get there. I hope you guys like the introduction of Sansa's POV, I really wanted to get it right.

She had done it. She had done the thing she swore to herself she would not do. Sansa slapped her palm against her steering wheel. What on Earth was she thinking? What had she done? Tears blurred her vision again and she realized she was likely not in the best condition to drive. But where would she go? She couldn’t go back home right now, that was for damn sure.

_God, you idiot._ She couldn’t stop reprimanding herself in her head. Okay, so she had a longstanding history of inappropriate feelings for her half-brother. She knew it was sick, twisted, and vile. She had wondered in the past if Ramsay’s abuses and Petyr’s revolting touches had made it impossible for her to trust a man not related to her. Jon was safe because they were family, so if trauma had induced some sort of attraction, it could eventually abate.

_Except you felt that way before any of it happened. Don’t lie to yourself._ She couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened. But she had to acknowledge that by the time Rickon was born, she had the stirrings of a crush on Jon. He was so sweet to her, and beautiful. She had been so lonely as an only child and begged for her parents to give her a brother (or a sister, even). And then Jon. It wasn’t how she thought it would be. No, it had been quite different than she imagined. He spent summers with the Starks and remained with his mother throughout the school year. It made it feel to Sansa more like they were long-distance friends rather than siblings. And the way he would look at her sometimes, it felt almost unbearably intimate but also gentle, comforting. Was there something there for him too? She thought sometimes, yes. Other times, she thought she was simply deluding herself, that Jon would be disgusted if he knew.

And then she had done the stupid thing and kissed him. It was the best kiss of her life. Even worse (and better), he had kissed her back. Out of everything that could have happened, she had not expected _that._ Was it because he had just gotten out of prison and hadn’t been with a woman in a long time? She hated to imagine him with another woman. She always found herself unconsciously comparing potential boyfriends to Jon and finding they never measured up. There was something deeply wrong with her and now Jon knew it. Hadn’t she taken enough from him? He had killed a man with his bare hands to protect her and then she goes and throws herself at him as soon as he’s out of prison? But the way he had kissed her forehead, the way he had said he loved her…was it all in her head? 

It probably wasn’t the best idea to run out as she did, but all she knew was she had to get away from him, needed to breathe air into her lungs without being seized with the roiling emotions she had felt in his presence. He was probably worried for her. Maybe he was angry with her? Distantly, she thought she heard her phone ringing in the back of her pants pocket. But she couldn’t answer, not even for Jon. But she needed to go somewhere. It was almost funny, if it were any other situation, the first person she would have spoken to would be Jon. She wasn’t sure she could talk to anyone about it right now, but she figured out a place to go--Margaery’s.

\----

Obsession. He remembered the therapist visiting the prison had used that word. Obsession, according to Merriam-Webster: “a persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable idea or feeling. broadly: compelling motivation.” [1]. A synonym, fixation, carried sub definitions: “a persistent concentration of libidinal energies upon objects characteristic of psychosexual stages of development preceding the genital stage” and “an obsessive or unhealthy preoccupation or attachment.” [2]

The fucker had actually brought a dictionary with him in an attempt to intellectualize Jon’s love for Sansa. As if he would convince him that his love for Sansa was wrong. Unhealthy. Unreasonable. Disturbing. He hadn’t known why he confessed his feelings to a stranger, but he had wanted to tell someone. The therapist seemed to think he could shame Jon out of his feelings. He hadn’t wanted to hear it then, and he sure as hell didn’t like those words coming back to him now, as he frantically called Sansa repeatedly, pacing back and forth in the living room. Maybe the therapist had a point. Maybe it was disturbing. Unreasonable. Jon didn’t care. He loved her. No one could tell him that was wrong. Not even Sansa herself. He imagined a similar type of scolding she may have been inflicting on herself as she sped away from him. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to hold her. Comfort her. Show her that it was okay. They didn’t have to fight it.

But how? How could he do that now that everything had gone sideways? He wanted to ease her into it—now it had exploded, and Sansa was dodging the wreckage. Should he have pulled away? He never would have been able to the moment she kissed him. He also couldn’t bear the thought that she might believe her feelings were unreciprocated had he pulled away. But was that what she would have wanted? He didn’t know. He felt like he didn’t know anything anymore.

All he really knew was he had to get Sansa back.

\----

“Sorry for springing a visit like this,” Sansa stammered.

“Mi casa es su casa and all that jazz,” Margaery waved her hand dismissively as she opened her door. When she looked at Sansa’s red puffy eyes, she let the mirth fall off her demeanor. “Sansa, are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s—I just need a minute to decompress,” Sansa said as Margaery handed her some tissues—useless now, really, she was all cried out, but she appreciated it, nonetheless, as she settled into Margaery’s sofa.

“Whenever you need to talk, I’m here,” Margaery said as she sat next to her on the sofa and patted Sansa’s knee. Margaery was great for this—understanding when Sansa just needed to rest, not pushing for answers.

Her phone went off again. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the screen. Yup, it was Jon. She set the phone on the coffee table.

“Sansa?” Margaery looked at her inquiringly. She must have seen it was Jon. Sansa shook her head. Margaery sighed, gave her a thoughtful look, and hesitantly reached for Sansa’s hand. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

_Like how I just made out with my half-brother and drove away like a lunatic?_ Looking to Margaery, she saw her friend’s face was cautious; much more cautious than she thought she had ever seen Margaery. “I know I can,” Sansa said.

Margaery knew. She had to. She must have seen how flustered Sansa had felt when she brought up Harry in front of Jon. How Sansa had reached for his hand and reassured him she would never go out with Harry, as if Jon were her jealous lover, even when Jon had only been “a protective big brother” as Margaery had put it. God, Sansa thought, she had been making a fool of herself left and right.

Her phone was ringing again, and Margaery reached for it. Sansa began to protest but Margaery held up a hand. “He’s probably worried Sansa. I don’t think he’s going to stop calling until he hears from you.”

Sansa sighed. “I know. I just can’t talk to him right now.” She wanted to talk to him. She did. But she didn’t know what to say and she had to get her head on straight first.

Margaery gave it a moment of thought. “Could I answer just to tell him you’re alright?” Sansa wasn’t sure about that. She didn’t think Jon would get on well with Margaery, no matter how much she cared for them both. But Margaery was right. He would be worried. She didn’t want that. She nodded her assent.

Margaery brought the phone to her ear. “Hello, Jon?”

\----

“Hello, Jon?” He had only a moment to exhale in relief when someone picked up before he recognized the voice.

“Margaery?” he said uncomfortably, he could feel himself grimacing.

“Yeah, it’s me. I um, I was just answering to let you know Sansa’s with me. She’s okay.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“I’m afraid she’s…indisposed at the moment,” Margaery said. He didn’t care for her cryptic response. Did Sansa hate him? Would she never speak to him again? He couldn’t let that happen. Were they at Margaery’s house? Did he have the address? Should he go over there right now? What did Margaery know? He knew she already knew more than he preferred. But now?

“Please, Margaery,” he felt himself losing his patience, struggling not to snap at her.

“She is okay, Jon.” Margaery said. As if it settled the matter. It most certainly did not. And what the fuck did indisposed mean anyway in this context?

“I suppose I just have to take your word for it?” He _was_ snapping now.

“I suppose you will. I’ve given you no reason not to, have I?” Margaery said in a steely voice. He could almost hear her glaring at him through the phone.

He tried to breathe. Arguing with Sansa’s friend was not going to help the situation. And he had to acknowledge what she said was true. He may feel irritated with Margaery much of the time, but he had no reason to believe she’d lie to him. “I guess not,” he said, a little more even toned. “Just, she’ll be okay right? She’ll come home?” he could hear the desperation in his voice.

“I’m sure she will Jon,” she said, uncharacteristically gentle. “I’m going to go now.”

“Yeah, okay,” he sighed and hung up. He ran his hand through his hair. Maybe being with Margaery was what Sansa needed right now, even if he wanted to be the one that she needed. He held out hope; Sansa let Margaery answer so he wouldn’t worry, didn’t she? That had to mean she cared even if she had fled. _Breathe in, breathe out; give her time_. He would need to pick up Rickon from school while Sansa processed. He knew he needed to regroup. He had a plan. That was over. Now, he just needed to make a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/obsession  
> 2\. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/fixation  
> The dictionary thing is kinda random but *shrugs*. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone reading, commenting, and showing support for this story. It means so much and I just hope I don't let you down! I don't know if the next update will be tomorrow or in a few days, but it will be soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa must face each other.

It was denial, Sansa realized, that was her real problem. Denial of her feelings for Jon, yes. But it was more than that. She denied herself a lot of things over the years since her parents died and she became Rickon’s caregiver. It was easier, she thought, to take care of other people. She liked doing it, too. But she used it as a way to avoid taking care of herself. 

Denying her vulnerability; denying that she might need taking care of too—that had brought her to a place where there was too much confusion to know what she wanted.

But that wasn’t entirely true. She knew she wanted Jon. She didn’t know what that meant for her, for Jon, for Rickon. She knew her feelings were wrong, but she didn’t know how to make them stop. She’d done something reckless in kissing him. Perhaps they could act like it never happened. The trouble was, she didn’t know how to do that either.

After Margaery had made them tea, she asked Sansa gently: “Did you two have a fight?”

Sansa looked at her, surprised. “What? No. It isn’t that.” Sansa can’t bring herself to confess what she’s done because she doesn’t know how to explain it. Not to her friend. Not to Jon. Not to herself, even.

Margaery set down her cup of tea. “I wish I knew how to help you,” she said.

Sansa reached for her hand. “You _are_ helping.”

Margaery nodded at her and smiled but Sansa could tell she was studying her closely. “Just let me say one thing, okay?”

Sansa huffed a laugh. It was hard for her friend to limit herself to one thing, she knew. Margaery meddled; her intentions were good, of course, but it could be a little overbearing at times. Sansa knew she was similar though, so she didn’t have much room to judge. “ _One_ thing, then,” Sansa said indulgently.

“Jon being home—it’s new, for you both. It could take some time to adjust. Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? Okay! I said my one thing,” Margaery threw her hands up.

_Adjusting_ , Sansa thought it over. That was true, she was adjusting to Jon being there. It was something she would get used to. Once they did that, things would be better. Clearer. Easier. They could put the kiss behind them.

_Couldn’t they?_

\----

Okay, so maybe it was desperate. Maybe it was too soon. But after picking Rickon up, he caved and texted Sansa.

_Hey Sans, I got Rickon from school and we’re home now._

He was scared, he had to admit.

_Sansa, please come home. When you’re ready, I mean. I don’t want to rush you. I’ll do anything you want, Sans, just come home._

He wrote _I love you_ and promptly erased it three times before sending the text without the declaration. It could be too much over a text message just now, he thought.

His phone buzzed and jolted him.

_I’ll be home soon._

He smiled. Small victories.

\----

She was avoiding him. That he was sure of. He wasn’t sure if he’d been in a room alone with her for days after. Usually, Rickon was their buffer. It made it easier to interact with one another but maintain distance. But distance was the last thing he wanted.

What did Sansa want? He felt like he was going out of his mind. Things had gone so badly, so quickly, and yet he couldn’t stop replaying that kiss in his mind. Cold showers. Masturbating. It hardly took the edge off. And the ache in his chest had no relief. It had been a week now since he’d felt her lips and body pressed up against his.

It couldn’t keep going like this. He wouldn’t let it. Sansa may not want to talk to him. But she couldn’t hide from him forever. And she had to know it, too. He refused to believe this whole thing was unsalvageable. He would speak with her. He had to.

\----

Perhaps cornering her after her morning run before work was not the best way to go about it. But he was a desperate man. “Sansa,” he said to her as she came in through the front door. Saturday morning, the rest of the house was quiet. The living room was dim.

“Jon, I didn’t expect you to be up so early,” she said lightly, but her tone was false. He could hear how nervous she was.

“I can do early mornings too,” he said. _I set my alarm to match yours._ He wouldn’t say that. “Sansa, we need to talk.”

She was wringing her hands in front of her, staring intently at her fingers rather than looking at him. “I know,” she said quietly. He took a step closer to hear her better and she took a step back. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He wouldn’t come any closer. “I’m sorry Jon. I, it was so wrong of me. I’m so sorry,” she said, and she sounded so small.

“Sansa, don’t apologize, please,” he said.

“I owe you an apology Jon,” she looked up at him, a trace of defiance to her features. _Good._ At least he knew she was feeling something. “I threw myself at you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

She snorted in disbelief and he took a long breath before his confession: “you didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

She stared at him wide-eyed. Despite everything, he found it quite adorable. “Sansa, I kissed you back, you can’t truly be surprised by what I just said, can you?”

She shifted on her feet, averting her eyes from him again. “I thought maybe, since you’d been in prison…”

She left it to him to fill in the blank. Did she really think that? “That wasn’t why, Sansa.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No.” His hands were shaking. The truth, he had decided. There was no going back after that kiss, no means to gradually show her his love before confessing it outright. This was the moment. He had to tell her. “I wanted to kiss you, Sansa. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time now. I…I love you, Sansa.”

“Of course, I’m your sister and I love you too—”

“Sansa, I am _in love_ with you,” he said resolutely.

She shook her head. “Don’t say that.”

That hurt. Like a stab to his heart. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t. We are brother and sister.”

“I know that. Believe me, I do. It’s still the truth, Sansa.”

“It can’t be.” 

“It’s the truth, Sansa!” He had begun to raise his voice, momentarily forgetting himself in his effort to make her see. They both looked toward Rickon’s room, but he didn’t seem to stir. She motioned for him to follow her.

Into her bedroom. 

He would have to be careful. Very careful. Sansa’s bedroom brought far too many thoughts into his mind. He clenched his jaw as he restrained himself.

She turned to face him. “This can’t happen, Jon. You know that.”

“No, Sansa. I don’t know that. It can.”

“How can you say that?”

“I love you. I want you. Only you.”

“Jon—”

“And you want me too.” He stepped in closer. Her breath hitched.

Sansa straightened her spine and tried to compose herself. But he could see a slight tremor run through her. She was affected by him, even as she tried to hide it. “It was…I lost my head, Jon.”

He was shaking his head as she spoke. “It was more than that and you know it.”

“I don’t!”

“You do!” he said darkly. And he couldn’t take it anymore. He would prove it to her, that the kiss—that the two of them together—was more than just a fleeting moment of madness on her part. He lunged for her and captured her mouth in a bruising kiss. It was like last time, but more frantic, urgent. He could physically feel the moment she gave up the fight, submitted under his hands as he caressed every inch of her skin. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip and she moaned, their tongues dancing together. She melted into him, drew her arms around his shoulders. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. God, how long had he been waiting for that to happen? He carried her to the bed and pushed her back, hovering on top of her. His mouth moved to her earlobe, her jaw, and he sucked on her neck and she gasped.

“Jon, we shouldn’t,” she sounded weak in her protests. So very weak.

“Shh... it’s okay Sansa,” he murmured, a soft whisper against her skin. “Stop thinking so much and let it happen. Let me love you,” he moved his way down her body, grabbing the waistline of her pants to pull them down.

“Jon,” she gasped, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Let me love you, Sansa,” he whispered hoarsely.

This time, she listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa make love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have never written smut and I don't think this is explicit enough to be considered as such. There is probably more emphasis on the romantic elements. I hope you enjoy it even if it's not particularly smutty--there are some bits of melancholy here, because it is obviously a complicated situation, but I think/hope the romance shines through <3.

It was more than he could have imagined, and he had imagined it a lot. Sansa writhing beneath his body, crying out as he made love to her. When he finally sank inside her, something inside of him seemed to click into place. This was it. This is what he had been missing. Her. Them. His heart and his very being were complete. He loved her. He had always loved her, but even he had not been prepared for how much this moment unmanned him, left him trembling in wonder and pleasure. He hadn’t known it could be like this. Not knowing where he ended, and she began, their sweat and scent mingling together. Wrapped up in each other, twisting their limbs together in desperation, wanting to find some way to get closer even as he thrusted inside her. The way she moaned his name, “ _Jon,_ ” over and over, and it had never sounded so sweet, so _right_ to his ears. He panted into her neck, her name tumbling from his lips like a prayer “ _Sansa, Sansa, my Sansa. I love you so much.”_

He would never part from her again. Ever. He needed her. She clung to him, and he held her, moved inside of her the way she wanted, listening to her moans and whimpers to learn what she liked. The world could only ever make sense with her in his arms. And he thought back to the day he met Sansa. When she had first been in his arms and he had fallen in love irrevocably. How his other half had come to him. How their embrace had meant it was no longer just him anymore. How that moment had led them, inevitably, to this. It was Earth-shattering, when they climaxed together. She was his and he was hers, and this, this was _everything._

\----

It was like being in a daze, something he could hardly understand. But he couldn’t be parted from her, especially not today. She had called into work. Sam and Gilly had picked up Rickon for the day, as Jon had requested beforehand, when he had dared hope he and Sansa would spend the day together. He didn’t want to let her leave the bed, kept tugging her back to him, wanted to keep her there with him forever. Kissed her everywhere in adoration. He set himself the task of learning every line of her body, every part of her revealed to him. The taste of her when his head was between her thighs, the way she bit her lip and threw her head back. He couldn’t let her out of this bed just yet.

And a part of it was selfish, he knew. As much as Jon knew their lovemaking bound them together completely, he wasn’t sure if the realization of it had settled within Sansa. He knew his Sansa well enough to know that if he let her, she would soon go back to thinking too much, getting caught up in what she thought was wrong about the two of them. He knew she loved him. She hadn’t said she was _in love_ with him yet, but he knew she was, and that maybe she wasn’t even aware of it yet. It made him fearful that the reminder of their relation would cause her to bolt away from him. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. He kissed her until he left them both breathless, wanting to keep her in this daze with him, too blissed out to distance herself from him. He knew that this daze would be temporary, that try as he might, they would eventually have to leave this bed, and they would eventually have to talk about this, the two of them, the implications, and she would express all her worries. He would have to let her, much as it would pain him. He would have to find a way to let her if they were to get past being siblings. But he wanted to stretch this moment out to infinity, not ready for it to be over, to face reality. But she was _his_ now. Maybe she didn’t know it yet, how they belonged to each other. But he knew, and he would fight for them. He loved her so much. Now that he had her, he was never going to let her go.

\----

Coherent thought had left her. And how could it not? With him, with Jon, her own _brother?_ She felt it all crashing into her like a freight train. She had been unable to resist his sweet request to love her. She was weak. Weak for him. Her own brother, she could not let herself forget, but he made love to her in such a way it left her speechless. All but his name falling from her lips in desperate sobs, unable to hold back the torrent building inside of her. She hadn’t known it could be like this. To feel so utterly whole. For it to feel so good, so _right,_ it frightened her as much as it thrilled her.

In the back of her mind, there was a small voice in her head questioning her: _what are you doing? What have you done? Your brother. He’s your brother!_ But each time he touched her, kissed her, it faded away and she could not stop what they had started. The feel of his hands on her, strong and soft at the same time. The way he moaned for her, said her name like she was all he ever needed. The way he shuddered as she ran her nails down his back. The feel of his full lips and his tongue on her body, between her legs. The way he filled her as he thrusted inside her, hitting a spot that knocked the breath right out of her. The way he closed his eyes and she could see he was trying to delay his own pleasure.

She was out to sea with him, but eventually, she would have to return to shore. She knew it. He must have known it too. Where could they possibly go from here? To be together was an impossibility, but it was just as impossible to go back to how things were before. And he loved her. He said he was _in love_ with her. She had wanted to believe the kiss they shared could be put behind them, but how could that happen now? He was in love with her, had been for a long time.

Did she feel the same? She loved him, of course. He was her family. And she had wanted him in a way she shouldn’t for far too long now, but was she _in love_ with him? It felt like she had spent so long denying her feelings that she couldn’t make sense of them anymore. And still she didn’t know what to do about them.

And Rickon. God, Rickon. How could they keep it a secret from him? He was already confused about the role of Sansa and Jon in his life, he had no memory of their parents, and Sansa and Jon were the closest to a mom and dad he had. He had occasionally slipped and called Sansa mom at times. He might slip and call Jon dad. If he were to perceive their relationship as romantic, would they just be compounding the trauma for him? Further confusing him? Sansa wanted their brother to have a normal life, but so far little of his life had played out that way. Even if they did keep it a secret, would he sense it? How would he learn appropriate boundaries?

And amid these thoughts she scared herself. She was _considering_ it, she realized. Considering continuing a relationship with Jon, keeping it secret. She could hardly believe she was entertaining the idea, but then, she could hardly believe the way they lay cuddled together in her bed. As lovers.

As she considered things, as Jon was pulling her now to sit astride him, and she, without resistance, let his hands guide her hips as she rode him and he looked up at her like she was some goddess fallen to earth, she wondered if this was some temporary spell they’d fallen under. Maybe the curiosity of being together, the pull of the forbidden, was what had them behaving this way. Maybe, now that they knew what it was like, the mystique would be gone, they would no longer feel this unnatural pull. _What if that ends it?_ And Sansa couldn’t ignore the other possibility now that they had crossed the line:

_What if it doesn’t?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty nervous about this one, so I hope you all like it! Thanks again to everyone reading and supporting this fic! I know none of these chapters are very long, but more updates soon!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa begin navigating a new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I mentioned before the chapters are all pretty short, and this one is shorter than most. I see it as a kind of transitional chapter setting up for the final act in the last two chapters. This is all Jon's POV and is mostly just his observations, but a lot of the reflections are centered on conversations he and Sansa are having. I hope you enjoy!

It was strange in some ways, Jon had to admit. That there was ever a time when he couldn’t predict what Sansa was thinking, what Sansa would do. But ever since they had _finally_ made love, he knew his Sansa was now in a place she had never been before.

To be fair, one could also say the same for him. To finally have his love, his Sansa, to hold her and love her the way he had wanted for so long, it was overwhelming. He had never believed that anything good could stay. But Sansa was good. And she would stay. The elation he felt could have knocked him over. And yet. He knew Sansa was struggling. He knew the guilt she was carrying. He could never regret what they had done, but it pained him to see her in such pain. It pained him, the way she went back and forth.

That had been what Sansa began to do, after that first day together. She would avoid his eyes, his touches, and though it killed him inside, he would never touch her when she did not want him to. So, he would give her the distance she needed. All the while, telling her nearly every instant he had the chance how much he loved her, how he was right _here._ How he would wait for her.

And then she would come to him at night in his bed. Not every night, but often enough that each evening was its own intoxicating blend of anticipation and agony. He couldn’t get enough of her. He never could. He knew that as well as he ever knew anything. There were times he wondered if Sansa wanted him to pull away and say no. But he could never refuse her. And she couldn’t seem to stop either. Even as she was always forecasting the end.

_This is madness._

_What are we doing, Jon?_

_We can’t keep doing this._

And yet. She couldn’t deny her need for him. She had still not confessed her love to him. He tried to tell himself to be patient. He tried to assuage her anxieties.

_Love isn’t madness._

_We are loving each other, Sansa._

_I need you like I need to breathe. And you need me too._

_Stop fighting it._

_Come back to bed._

Slowly but surely, he thought he was reaching her. Then she had eventually moved on to worries over Rickon. And this became one of the bigger obstacles he faced.

The other obstacles, the ideas that their love was wrong, of what other people might think, were easy enough to reason with when he implored her to think of everything they had been through to be where they were now. How no one outside of them could truly understand. He had wrestled enough with those demons, the guilt and the shame, that he could easily counter them whenever Sansa invoked them. He could make the case that after everything, if they found love and happiness with each other, what did it matter if others thought it was wrong? Not that anyone need know, but _if they did._ It was no one else’s business.

And he didn’t particularly like the way that argument invoked all their traumas. He didn’t believe his love needed to be justified. And he believed that even without the death of Ned and Cat, him never knowing a father until he was a teenager, his mother never being there for him like he needed, without Baelish or Lysa or Ramsay or any of it, they would still be in love. He would, he knew that for certain. Maybe it _could_ have turned out differently for Sansa. But playing what-if was useless. He learned that in prison. If the only way he could convince Sansa to allow herself some happiness was to point out the unfortunate truth that life had given precious little of it to them, then he would do it.

But Rickon was another matter. What Rickon thought and felt _did_ matter, even if Jon would happily tell everyone else to fuck right off. But he wasn’t sure it was such a problem, at least not in the way Sansa seemed to think it was. She seemed to believe that, if Rickon were to discover a romantic relationship between them, it would hurt him because they were stand-ins for a mom and dad, or something along those lines. Jon didn’t quite know what to make of that worry. It was its own unique kind of grief, he came to realize, when a person you love dearly can’t remember the departed that brought you together, and whom the departed had loved so much. That Rickon would not remember Ned and Cat, would only know them from pictures and stories—in some ways, it was like losing them all over again. Whatever pain Rickon would carry throughout life because of it was only something Jon and Sansa could help him cope with, not protect him from, as Sansa seemed to believe was possible. 

And honestly? Even if he and Sansa were to stop their relationship completely, there was still a danger of Rickon picking up on it. Jon would never fall out of love with Sansa. Even if Sansa could stop feeling for him ( _no, he wouldn’t consider it because it hurt too fucking much_ ) there would always be something there to pick up on. Maybe Rickon already had. _Maybe_ Rickon knew even when he had asked Jon if he loved Sansa. And _if he did_ , well, what if he was okay with it? What if their functioning as partners made them better caregivers? Even if some of his comfort with it came from the fact that Jon and Sansa were sort of parental units, did it really matter if at the end of the day, all three of them were happy?

And after _that_ lengthy monologue to assuage Sansa’s fears, she had sat quietly on his bed for a long time. Her eyes were soft and unfocused, dazzlingly blue and beautiful. When she was like this—thinking, processing—he could look his fill of her. He loved her like this, unguarded, wearing another one of his t-shirts and her adorable sleep shorts with rainbows on them. While he really wished that at times, she would stop thinking so damn much instead of listening to her heart, he also loved the quiet, thoughtful look on her face, as if he could see the gears turning in her head. God, he loved her so fucking much. 

And finally, she looked back at him, almost as if awaking from a dream. Her eyes were clear and kind. “If it’s okay tonight Jon,” she paused and looked at her hands “maybe we can just sleep. Would you hold me?”

And Jon wondered at all the new and interesting ways she found to make his heart feel so full it was like it was bursting. He smiled, leaned back and opened his arms to her. “Anything you want,” he said as she nestled in beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch now! I hope you guys like it and thanks again for all the support. Happy Valentine's Day!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's jealousy rears its head again. Jon and Sansa reach a milestone in their relationship.

There are things Sansa is just now learning about herself, she thinks. Things like how she likes cuddling, which she never would have known before. Things like how she can become shy even with someone she knows well, like when Jon gives her a certain crooked smile that just makes her _melt._ Things like how she likes a man going down on her, when he knows how to do it right. She thinks of Jon’s mouth, beautiful and utterly sinful, blushing, as she fills a customer’s latte order. Things are short-staffed today at the café, and so she has found herself at the counter taking orders, not something she does all that often since taking on her position of manager, but she really ought to keep practice at a kind but neutral face. Sansa feels ridiculous because she keeps smiling so much it’s making her cheeks hurt.

She used to be so good at putting on a mask, never revealing herself, and people would think she was a cold bitch at times. But she found that was better than people seeing her as a helpless broken bird. She didn’t want to look scared or helpless or vulnerable. The mask kept her aloof to anyone who might hurt her.

But now, perhaps because of Jon, that mask is starting to fade. _Perhaps because of Jon?_ _Liar._ It’s interesting, how casually she finds herself slipping into such deceptions. But however she may try to deceive herself, she’s grown rusty at it with others, apparently.

“You’re glowing, dear. Who is he?” Margaery asks, raising an eyebrow scandalously.

“Who is who?” Sansa answers, looking away from her friend.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me Sansa Stark,” Margaery watches her with narrow-eyed skepticism. “Who is the boy that’s got you walking around with the heart eyes and the dreamy look on your face?”

“There is no boy,” Sansa lies. Margaery reads her too well. She didn’t like to think that Margaery knew about her feelings for Jon when Sansa had tried to hide it. But it had really seemed like she had, that day Sansa ran to her house after she kissed Jon the first time. Shit, now she was blushing again.

Margaery laughs. “Honey, we both know that’s a lie. C’mon and spill. You weren’t interested in Harry, who is practically an Adonis, so who’s managed to turn your head?”

Sansa is surprised at the mention of Harry. Sansa had never been interested in him. He may have been handsome, but he was an ass. It seemed Margaery had accepted that now, at least. “It’s just…”

She didn’t know how to complete the sentence as Margaery looked at her expectantly. “It’s no one, okay? Can we just drop it?”

In the past, Sansa thinks, her avoidance would have been because Jon was her brother, but now, it feels different, even though she can’t quite figure out why. It almost feels less like it’s a secret because it’s wrong, and more like it’s a secret because whenever she _does_ end up spilling details to someone like Margaery, she might never stop. She thinks she’ll start gushing about Jon and how he holds her, makes her laugh, makes her feel like she can do anything. And she certainly can’t start gushing in such a way at work of all places.

Margaery narrowed her eyes again briefly but then smiled. “Fine, I’ll let you keep your secrets. For _now._ ” And they both laughed as the front door of the café opened. Sansa had already turned to the register when she heard Margaery drawl: “Well, speak of the devil!”

Sansa looked up, thinking Margaery had figured it out after all and Jon was here (the thought making her so excited she felt butterflies in her stomach), only to see none other than Harry Hardyng entering the café.

\----

Jon thinks of little but going to see his Sansa after dropping Rickon off at school. She is working today, and Jon had hoped to maybe surprise her for lunch. He’d also just gotten a callback from someone at the furniture store Sansa told him about, a carpenter looking for an apprentice. He’d been reluctant to use any of the resources Sansa had provided him from Father Luwin, but eventually caved because it was something he’d wanted for a long time. To work with his hands, build things, it made him happy and gave him a sense of peace. It seemed like the right direction for him and he knew Sansa would be thrilled when she heard the news.

He felt like he floated more than walked to her work. But once he stepped inside the café, he saw Margaery tucked away in a corner and a tall, broad-shouldered blond man leaning far over the counter and _far too close_ to Sansa at her register. He may have actually seen it like a red film passed over his eyes for a moment. Suddenly he tensed, every part of his body becoming aware of this man, this _presumptuous_ man that was gabbing Sansa’s ear off about some inane shit while she smiled and nodded politely. 

_Not a real smile,_ Jon told himself. Who the _fuck_ was this guy?

Sansa looked up at Jon and she seemed to beam at him in relief. Or that was what he told himself. But he also really thought it was true. “Jon!” Sansa said in a too-high voice, “I didn’t know you were stopping by!”

Was she nervous? She seemed nervous. But he couldn’t tell if she was nervous because of him or because of the presumptuous blond prick. “Thought I might surprise you for lunch,” he said and smiled at her, but his jaw was tight as he then eyed the Presumptuous Blond Prick.

Presumptuous Blond Prick was now turning to look at Jon, as if he just realized there were other people in the room besides him and Sansa. Instead of speaking to Jon, Presumptuous Blond Prick looked back at Sansa and asked, raising his eyebrow: “And who do we have here, Sansa?” God, Jon hated this guy for flirting with his Sansa and for being so downright rude.

“This is Jon, my brother,” Sansa said, and he thought she may have stuttered at the last bit, or maybe he was just imagining it. Presumptuous Blond Prick seemed to have a look of relief on his face at that, but Jon liked to believe he could wipe the smug grin off Presumptuous Blond Prick’s face pretty quickly. “Jon, this is Harry.”

Ah, _Harry_ , yes, Jon remembers that fucker’s name. Had Margaery brought him here? Was Margaery trying to set them up?

Harry strode toward Jon and held out his hand. “Harry Hardyng, nice to meet you man.” Jon looked at Harry’s hand for a moment before shaking it, imagining breaking Harry’s fingers all the while. Harry winced, giving Jon an immense swell of probably unreasonable pride. “That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, my man,” Harry said, laughing nervously. 

I am not _your man,_ Jon thought. But he could see that Harry was trying to lighten the mood because Jon had (successfully) intimidated him. And it was probably wrong of him, but Jon _loved_ being able to do that. He could intimidate and threaten bodily harm all he wanted to Presumptuous Blond Prick or any other dumb fuck that tried to move in on his Sansa. He may have to do it under the guise of a protective older brother, but he could do it all the same.

But when Jon looks over at Sansa, her brow is furrowed in a way that makes Jon question his actions. Is she upset with him for intimidating this guy? Does she think that he thinks her incapable of swatting off flies like Presumptuous Blond Prick? It isn’t that, but of course Jon’s jealousy is more keenly felt around men who aren’t her brother, who could love her freely. But Sansa doesn’t want Harry. She said it herself. Jon isn’t worried.

\----

Okay, so maybe Jon is worried. Just a little. He takes care not to snap at Sansa, but once he gets her alone, he has to ask her if he’d walked in on something, if Margaery had set them up. Sansa tells him no on both counts. She reassures him she has no interest in Harry. Jon believes her.

But she still hasn’t said she was in love with him. He’s said it countless times now. She still seems to wrestle with the idea of truly being together. And so, Jon finds himself getting bolder with Sansa than before.

Bolder, meaning Jon bends Sansa over their kitchen counter and fucks her hard and fast from behind, pulling her perfect flame locks all the while. Jon fucks her and doesn’t let her come until she’s screaming his name, swearing she belongs to him and only him. She is _his_. He would not let her forget it.

And it is after this that he becomes terrified that he’s hurt her, scared her. He feels ready to beg on his knees for her forgiveness for being so brutal. He whispers softly “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, Sansa. I’m sorry.”

But Sansa isn’t hurt or scared. She takes him to her bedroom, and they make love again and again until they are spent. And he is holding her, telling her again: “I love you Sansa. I love you so much.”

He wants to say more. Wants to say _I need you. I want forever with you. I want to know that I can be safe in your arms too. I need you to love me back._

And maybe she divines it somehow. Maybe they have become so attuned to each other she can feel it in the way he breathes against her, the way he presses a soft kiss to her temple, tucks a bit of her hair behind her ear, smiling softly at her all the while. Either way, she gives him what he has needed so desperately and for far longer than even she realizes: “I love you too, Jon. I mean… I’m _in love_ with you, Jon.”

He feels tears filling his eyes, wants to shout to the heavens in victory, wants so many things all at once but focuses instead on what he truly needs. Her. Them. He smiles, and kisses her gently on the lips, almost chastely. And says to her: “I am so, so, stupidly _in love_ with you, Sansa.”

“Stupidly?” She questions, but the look in her eyes tells Jon she is teasing.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jon tells her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! One more chapter left! We'll actually see Sansa's realization that she's in love with Jon, and a bit of an epilogue of sorts. The update should probably be tomorrow, but I'm saying *probably* just in case. Either way, it will be soon. Thank you all so much!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading. As I've said before, this is my first fanfic. I have really loved writing it and reading all your comments, even if I'm not responding to everyone. I started this story because I had this image in my mind that wouldn't go away, of Jon leaving prison with Sansa there to greet him in an epic Jonsa hug like their reunion embrace in season 6. It became this. I thought it would be darker, but I realized a Jon who'd gone to prison protecting Sansa as he did would be sensitive and approach their relationship delicately. I ultimately had Sansa make the first move and kiss Jon because I wanted to give her more agency, even if much of this story is about Jon convincing Sansa they can be together. It turns out, writing Jonsa fic is just as or more addictive as reading it to me! I've already started another multichapter fic and I've got a smutty one shot I may or may not post soon. I hope you like the conclusion to this story, and thanks again to those who have stuck with it!

It is Harry Hardyng, of all things and people, that clarifies it for her in the end. Sansa almost giggles thinking it, falling into Jon’s arms again. There, in his arms, she is content, she is safe, and she is whole.

Watching Jon enter the café that day, interrupting the mind-numbing boastful anecdotes about Harry’s rugby matches, like she had called out some distress signal. And she saw the moment Jon realized Harry had come to flirt with her, ask her out, and the jealousy that clouded his features. Saw how Jon shook Harry’s hand like he wanted to break it, hiding his possessiveness beneath the cloak of brotherly protectiveness.

And Sansa thought, briefly, that she should have been bothered by Jon’s alpha male displays. In reality, she found that it stirred something within her. And she realized why, glancing between Harry and Jon. Jon’s possessiveness didn’t feel like control. No, instead it felt like commitment. He was committed to her, to _them,_ and he wanted the same commitment from her. The same devotion and love. Seeing Jon and Harry in the same space, she was struck again—the way she had compared the men she had dated or considered dating to Jon and always found them lacking, the way she knew that with Jon she was safe, she was happy, and she was loved. Loved in a way no other man could give her. Loving in a way she could give no other man.

Yes, she loved Jon. Was in love with him, just as he was with her. She had only needed to stop deceiving herself to realize it. And what a realization it was, sparking her skin like electricity, feeding a warmth in her chest. Jon was home. Jon was love. Her confession to him, the tears in his eyes, the shining hope—it breaks away any last pretenses of what this is, what they are. They are together. They are lasting. She cannot deny it. She has given up the fight and the relief flows keenly through them both.

\----

This doesn’t make the complications easy, per se, and Sansa knows they both must find confidantes. She knows Jon has Sam. Sansa tells Margaery.

“Oh, finally,” Margaery lets out an exhale that sounds as if a huge weight has just been lifted off her shoulders. Sansa blinks, surprised. She knew Margaery had gleaned something of her feelings, that had made confessing to her easier. However, she did not expect Margaery’s reaction to be one of _relief._

Margaery knows her well enough to know the question in Sansa’s expression. “I’m happy for you, Sansa. I felt like I was waiting forever for one of you to do something.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sansa blushes.

“You two, I thought I might have to lock you in your bedroom and not let you out till you banged!” Margaery rolls her eyes in annoyance. “You can’t think you hid it well, sweetie,” she says, taking Sansa’s hand.

“Well, no,” Sansa says, and that much is true. “But I didn’t think you were supportive of Jon and I together.” Damn, even saying that aloud brings a smile to her face. “I don’t understand Marge, you kept talking up Harry to me.”

Margaery smiles at her mischievously, as if she’s laid a trap that Sansa has walked right into. “Exactly, something needed to light a fire under your asses. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Jon doesn’t seem the type to share you,” she laughs. She is clearly quite satisfied (read: smug) about how things worked out. Sansa, bewildered but happy, laughs with her.

“You really support us? Even though…” she can’t quite bring herself to say it. She thinks she should be able to, now that she has committed herself to Jon. But the guilt recedes slowly, not all at once.

Margaery pauses before answering, and she can tell by the look on her face that Margaery has really thought about this conversation, and what she would say to Sansa, before: “Look, in a perfect world, Jon wouldn’t be your brother. And I like Jon, though we’re never going to be best buddies, no offense.”

“None taken.” Sansa says. She knows Margaery and Jon are very different people, but if Margaery actually supports the idea of them, then she doesn’t think they’re going to hate each other, and that is a relief. Maybe Jon will grow to like Margaery as well, even if they’re only around each other because of Sansa.

“But he loves you and you love him. Hell, I’ve never seen you this happy, Sansa. After all the shitty hands you’ve been dealt? Can I really say nope, I don’t support it? You deserve to be happy Sansa. Let yourself have it.” Margaery is resolute, as she is with everything, and Sansa knows it is deeply felt, and the gratitude toward her friend grows.

Margaery hugs her. “You’re in love,” she says.

Sansa thinks of Jon’s eyes and his smiles, the ones reserved just for her, the warmth she finds in them. She thinks of the way he squeezes her hand when she’s stressed. She thinks of the way he looks when he sleeps, innocent and undisturbed. She thinks of his pure heart and kindness. She even thinks of his broodiness and stubborn streak. Each detail is precious in her eyes. “I’m in love,” she agrees.

\----

Jon knows what it is now, to win your heart’s desire. And after a life of being denied so much, it can be hard to believe, to know that it is real. But he sees the way Sansa looks at him, feels the love in her touch and he knows to trust it. He trusts her with his life and his heart.

Things aren’t perfect, of course. Sansa no longer goes back and forth as she used to, but he knows the shame has not bled from her completely; not yet anyway. He will love her through it all, until she lets it go, and he’ll love her after, when shame has released them both. They are only “out” to a handful of people they trust, and Jon knows that their support strengthens them, even if their relationship must otherwise remain secret.

And then there is Rickon. They haven’t told him. They do nothing untoward in front of him, save for a kiss on the cheek, or a hug with pats on the back. They might hold hands, but only when Rickon is holding hands with them, when they go for a walk on the beach or out for ice-cream in the evening. Rickon may figure it out, or he may already know in some sense. He can see it in Rickon’s manner when he tells Jon to take care of Sansa after she’s had a rough day, or to remember when Valentine’s Day is coming up to buy her flowers and candy. It soothes something inside Jon, that Rickon places faith in him to care for Sansa, as Jon so ardently does. And Sansa and Jon care for him. They are a family. Rickon is adjusting in school as his reading and math skills have reached grade level, he has more friends than in the time before Jon went to prison, and he is happy. It isn’t perfect, but it is enough.

When Jon lay next to Sansa in bed at night, he knows how lucky he is, to fall asleep and to wake up next to her. And he knows it with a certainty he seldom finds outside of their family—that this is where they belong. He knows that everything he’s done, the man he has become, it has all brought him here. To Sansa. That this is where he is meant to be. That this is what he needs. To feel her in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it?? I hope so! I hope Margaery's words here don't come across as unrealistic, because I do think she's sneaky like that. I also wanted to have a hopeful future in mind for Rickon. Most importantly, my babies are finally happy <3!!!

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned, this is my first fanfiction but I love the Jonsa community here. Please be gentle with me! This first chapter has a lot of exposition but hopefully it's still readable.


End file.
